The Christmas Bluebird
by Backroads
Summary: What chance does a poor carpenter have to win the hand of a princess? My retelling of the holiday story.
1. The First Christmas Eve

_I grew up hearing this story. This is my own little retelling of the story. So the disclaimer is that I really don't own it (I just don't know who does!) Enjoy and Merry Christmas. _

* * *

The sky was a solid white blanket of expected snowfall, churning ever so slowly with the heavy clouds. The wind was picking up, as crisp as the air around it, sure to send the bare and frozen branches into holiday dances. Colter rubbed his uncovered hands together as he trudged through the crunchy snow that had sewn itself to the King's Park. Snow. That was what they needed. What was a Christmas Eve without snow? It was only afternoon, but he could picture a dark sky with snowflakes in the foreground. Pretty sight. If only the other boys would never hear he imagined such things. In fact, he wanted to pound in his own face for thinking such things. Well, they would never need to know. It was his secret for Christmas Eve, and no doubt the others thought such ridiculous things as well. Hopefully. He pulled his scarf tighter around his neck. His mother had made it specifically for Christmas, but the morning's sudden chill had prompted her to fret and worry and insist he take the gift now. Holly green, very fine. His mother was one of the finest knitters around. His father's woodcarving shop was so filled with such silly knit trinkets it was embarrassing.

His father would be home later that night. Colter had been sent ahead to help with Christmas plans at the house.

He didn't like that. He kicked into a snow drift. It would be cooking and decorating. Women's work. He hated women's work. No boy should be forced to do such things. Why, even his name was against such things. His great-grandfather had broke horses– James Colter had been his name, and Colter now wore that proudly. Horses. He would like to break horses. Or carve wood, like his father. Or maybe be the blacksmith's apprentice. Certainly not sew and cook.

Those were things that little girl by the pine probably wanted to do. He kicked another bank of snow before stopping to watch her. It was colder even to stop. He felt his cheeks grow all the redder. Hopefully his hair wouldn't freeze to his eyelashes again.

The girl was one of the richer folk's daughters. Just a little thing, black hair done up in fancy braids and a pale blue cloak wrapped around her skinny body. The cloak was lined with fur– and now snow. The children liked to come to the King's Park to play in the snow. But now her fancy cloak would be all wet and her mother would not be happy. She wasn't playing now, however. She stood still in the middle of the snow, wind tangling the free wisps of hair, staring at something in her hands.

Colter felt a twinge of jealousy. If a little girl had found something special, a treasure... he had always prided himself on finding the interesting stones and buttons! At least a boy should find such things.

But it didn't seem to be something like that. She was speaking softly.

Curious, Colter approached, just close enough to see a tiny patch of bright blue nestled in her hands.

What? He stepped closer.

Ruffled, frozen feathers, weak breathing.

A bluebird.

Hadn't all the bluebirds already flown south?

The girl finally looked up. Her flushed face was determined. "Boy, come here! This bird was left behind by his friends and he is no freezing!"

Whoa. That surprised Colter. No, no, it didn't. It just proved that this girl was indeed one of the rich folk, all sounding just like a miniature queen.

He shuffled his feet, unsure whether to smile. "What do you expect me to do about it?"

The girl sighed haughtily. "I wrapped him in my fur muff, but I don't have any food for him. Would you happen to have any food? It is Christmas and we should be generous."

Well, what was he supposed to do there? His hands went to his pockets. A little of lunch's bread was still there. Still confused about why this little girl was bossing around a strong boy of ten years, he handed her the crumbs.

"Thank-you." Tenderly she held them out to the bluebird, who proceeded to weakly peck them from her hand.

"He's frozen," she continued in confidence. "I mean, not frozen solid, but the poor thing is sooo cold." So much effort went into two little syllables.

Colter found himself smiling. He had no sisters, and would never be caught dead playing with a girl, so he wasn't sure at all how they were supposed to act. "Well, is your fur thing warming him up?"

She nodded proudly. "Oh, yes. It keeps me warm, so why shouldn't it keep a tinier creature all the warmer?"

The bluebird, having finished its meal, seemed a little more aware. Its tiny head was up, black eyes blinking.

It was a nice little bird, Colter decided. He fished his pocket for a few more crumbs.

"You are so very kind," the little girl said in her proper little voice. "I must know the name of someone so generous."

"Colter Wood," he said, wondering if any of the other boys would ever hear about him talking to this funny little girl.

"Colter Wood," she repeated with a smile. "Such a nice name. I believe I forgot to introduce myself. My name is Christine." She gave as much of a curtsey as she could while still clutching the bluebird.

Christine. Where had Colter before heard that name? It sounded very familiar.

By now the little bird was hopping around Christine's arm, testing its wings. A good meal and a little warmth had suited it well. Not a very smart one, though.

"Should have had the sense to fly south with the others," Colter said.

Christine frowned. "Well, maybe he was hurt, or maybe his family forgot him."

Girls. They never had any sense. He sighed, wondering when it was safe to go. He had forgotten how cold it was. The sky finally opened, sending down the first flakes of glittering snow. Could the bird fly in the snow?

It certainly seemed willing to try. With a delighted little chirp, it flapped its wings, and took off.

Christine clapped her hands and laughed. "Look! He's all better now! And it is all because of you, Colter!"

As much as he didn't want to admit it, he liked watching the bird fly away. Instead he just shrugged. "Well, Christmas is a time of a service."

"Which you did very well, taking your own time to help a little creature. The kingdom thanks you."

The kingdom? What right did she have to speak on behalf of the kingdom?

It was only moments before he learned. The park, which had only been occupied by the two of them, suddenly had a third occupant. A hurried-looking woman in a fine black cloak and frazzled hair, hurried in.

"Princess Christine!" she shouted. "There you are!"

Colter froze, and not from the cold. Princess Christine? He had been speaking to the Princess?

"I was helping a bluebird, nurse!" Princess Christine protested. "I was helping someone in the kingdom!"

"After wandering away from me!" the nurse said. "Princess, we must return to the palace. The festivities will be starting soon, and certainly your father His Royal Highness will want to see you alive and without frostbite."

Princess Christine gave her own little sigh, then curtsied once more to the still-stunned Colter. "I thank-you again!" Then she disappeared with her nurse.

Colter took a deep breath. He suddenly didn't mind the cold. He had met the Princess. This was going to make a great story.

Though he wouldn't be able to tell the other boys. Princess or no princess, she was still a girl.


	2. Christine

"For the last time, you can keep your measly pennies to yourself. If you can't afford this cloth, it's off with you!" The words stormed out like thunder across the market square, though the result was ignorance. No one cared. No one did. Another vendor would sell a poor young woman cloth, sure enough. People of the kingdom were not so heartless, not most of them. Though there were always the exceptions.

The woman turned away, expression forlorn. She had been saying something about clothing for her baby daughter. This particular vendor was skilled, there was no denying that. But Christine had seen superior talent. Far superior, and outside the palace as well.

She smiled to herself as the woman continued down the row of shops, money purse dangling and jingling only at the harshest steps. Not too many coins in there, at least not too many to spend on good cloth. Well, she would find the necessary cloth, that was certain. Christine could count on that. She pulled her hood closer around her face and followed the woman. She was good at following. Close enough to keep the soul within sight and sound, but far enough to keep up a proper appearance of an innocent browser.

She danced past a bevy of giggling girls, scarcely seven years, clutching late apples in their hands. Apples. She could smell them already. Her father kept an orchard, but apples in the market were a different smell entirely. Good and rich with a most exotic blend of flavors, if one could call meat and bread and wood exotic. And people. She couldn't forget the smell of people.

Oh, but was she going to bathe when she returned to the palace!

The day was bright for late autumn. November would soon reach its end, bringing with it the necessary chills. Not that November could be called much warmer, but some days it did its best to drum out the last remaining sunshine stored in the paling skies. Her coarse hood was almost too warm, but she wasn't stupid enough to take it off.

The woman had stopped at another vendor, a small stand covered in tents of cloth. Good and bright and strong, if Christine knew fabric– she sort of did. Someone across the way was selling rope. She didn't need rope but... she made her way over, one ear open to the conversation on the other side of the path.

How in heaven's name was one supposed to judge rope? She ran her fingers over the fibers, humming softly, while the vendor spoke in words she did not understand.

Those giggling girls were back. Christine slipped her hand into a pocket. Two fingers curled around a few coins and flipped them out. An accident that would go unnoticed until she was long gone. She could do more in another area. She still had about half the gold with which she had arrived.

"Why, I would never say gold was too fancy, not for a lady," the new cloth vendor was saying. "This is the finest I've woven, good and soft. The color of sunrise."

The woman laughed shyly. "No, we won't be needing it. But this blue..."

"Blue for a baby," came the response. "I know, I know. I have three of my own. So you like it?"

The woman murmured her approval while Christine held up a length of... oh, why did she even bother?

"Nine coppers," the man said. "I'm also proud of this cloth."

Christine turned in time to see the woman's shoulders slump. Too expensive. Here was the trial.

After a moment's pause, the man said "And what would you offer?"

"I could give seven."

"Six coppers, then, but no less."

Christine choked back a laugh. Perfect. She squeezed the laugh into a sigh and lay the rope back down. Another customer needing to compare elsewhere, nothing wrong with that. "I must ask my husband about this," she said. "Then I'll be back."

The rope vendor grunted, but accepted that well enough. "Anything else I could help you with?"

She nodded and pointed a thumb behind her. "That cloth vendor... what is his name?"

"Harold Weaver."

"Harold Weaver," she repeated. "Thank-you." With a small bow she left the stand, scattering a few more gold coins as she did so. Though she might keep one in case she saw wherever those girls had purchased the apples. A long day in the market worked havoc on one's appetite. She kept her eyes open as she walked along, moving easily as people stepped around her. The flowing river that was the market! And not an apple in sight!

Pretty sight, though. Good and quaint.

Except for those ridiculous signs! There, right next to a potter's mat, was the second one she had seen. How humiliating. One part of her insisted she walk right on past, but the princess in her loved seeing it in print. Sickening princess. She stopped there, ready to read. What an announcement! Thick parchment, scrawling inky letters...

She wasn't the only one noticing the announcement.

She didn't turn, but she could hear them behind her. There had to be at least four of them, by the sound of things.

"I'll enter if for no reason than to crush in your face, Paul! Are you even capable of running?"

There was a quick cry of pain as Paul, assumably, made a physical retort. "I can run circles around you."

A round of guffaws.

Would this conversation ever get good? Christine wanted to hear about herself.

"Unfortunately for the both of you, the King is looking for a spark of intelligence, which neither of you have."

"Unfortunate for you, as well!"

More laughter. Christine gave a small sigh and turned to look at the pots. Yes, there were four of the young men, still in an uproar as it there were nothing more witty than their own speech.

"Yes, well, the Princess herself is supposed to be able to knock a chessboard at anyone, and if you can beat her..."

Well, she was rather good at chess. She picked up a small pot. Very pretty. Very pretty indeed.

"So... are we entering? Any of us?"

"Oh, I fully intend to."

"Just because the palace requires the occasional carpentry and those carpenters happen to be you and your father."

"No, I just know I'm better than you."

Carpenters? She had never really bothered to watch when the carpenters arrived.

The conversation drifted into a ridiculous comparison of how much each of the young men could lift. Christine paid for the pot with a coin, a smile, and an instruction to keep the rest. How much an idiot could lift? She could see that from the jesters. Was that so necessary a quality in a husband? Was her father certain about that? He should be. She didn't want a weakling husband.

How vain was she? She felt like kicking herself hard in the shin. She left the potter and the men, clutching her new treasure in one hand, flicking out a few more coins with the other.

"Miss! Miss!"

She stopped. No one was supposed to see the coins.

One of the men was running up behind her, gold glittering in his hands. "Miss, I believe you dropped these! And that's an awful amount of money to lose."

Not for her. "Oh!" Horror was easy to feign once one had the hang of it. "Oh, how careless of me! Thank-you!" Could a peasant possibly insist someone keep four gold coins?

The man shrugged. "Well, there would be a lot of grateful folks around here, but it probably wouldn't sit well with you."

What did she care about four missing coins? They were the only reason she was out here! But she couldn't just stand there. Keeping her face low, she took the coins. "Thank-you again, good sir."

"So you like pottery?" the young man continued.

Wonderful. He waned a conversation! How long before he recognize her? She nodded.

"I never saw any use for it myself. Though I guess if you like it, that's fine. I carve wood, myself. I'm a carpenter."

Ah, the palace carpenters. She nodded politely, wondering how to get out of this. Her hand moved to her pocket. Maybe she could drop a few more coins that way. No, the carpenter boy would notice.

He finally noticed her disinterest. At least he had the decency to maintain a smile. A nice smile, she thought, though she couldn't see much of it. The carpenter was quite on the tall side. Strong-looking, not bad-looking. Would this be her father's choice? Not too bad... "Well, miss, it was a pleasure to help you. I hope to see you again."

She curtsied and left, cursing herself under her breath. She hated acting that way. It went against everything she knew. But it wouldn't do to be recognized in the middle of the market!

She dropped the rest of her money pouch out at a corner.

Her father was waiting for her when she returned to the palace, smiling. He knew all about it, had known for months. "Well, Christine."

She smiled back as she yanked off the disgusting cloak. "Hire Harold Weaver to supply the cloth, Father. And pay him well."

* * *

She reminded him of Princess Christine, Colter thought. He wasn't sure what had given him that impression. He hadn't seen her up close in such a long time. But the height was about the same, the shape of the face...

He shook his head and returned to the others. He couldn't consider a girl lovely just because she happened to look like the Princess. He couldn't settle for a girl just because he lost this contest.

There it was. The first time he had admitted it to himself. He would be entering this contest on something more than a dare from his friends.

Paul and Brandon were already wrestling each other while Michael jeered them. Eh, Colter knew he could whip them all. They knew it, too. In fact, he had to let them win once in a while just to keep the games interesting; they wouldn't fight him otherwise, and that just made things dull. There was nothing Colter liked more than a good fight.

He would beat anyone in the kingdom.

He stepped past the boys to examine the announcement. The hand of Princess Christine would go to the man who could prove himself in strength, intelligence, and purity of heart. He wasn't sure what the last one meant, but other others, he knew he had them. It was a good thing his mother had insisted he learn to read.

He traced his finger down the parchment, thinking. He had a vague memory of seeing the Princess once, as a child... but he hadn't really cared until several years later. He had been thirteen, assisting his father in fixing a table at the palace. Princess Christine had been in drawing in chalk all over the floor, just like a child. And it had been a good picture. She had done it to spite the nurse.

Something about that had hit him in a way he couldn't explain.

The contest was open to everyone, noble and otherwise.

And he had an appointment at the palace tomorrow.


	3. A Game of Chess

It wasn't until Colter pounded away at the shelf in the palace library that he even realized that in the morning the contest would begin. Men from around the land were arriving, and he had been too daft to notice! A laugh escaped him, some declaration of insanity, as he smoothed away the wood. With all the books the King kept, it was amazing no more shelves had broken. He had grown up only on the few books he could get his hands on– the sight of the palace library with its books upon books was a sight to strike one down, almost. It was probably a sin to lay them upon the floor some servant had, waiting until the shelf was fixed.

Good wood, this shelf. Walnut. Good, strong wood. Colter breathed in the dust and choked. Everyone said it was foolish to breathe in the dust like that, that he would die from it, but he liked to think he was immune, by now. He had been around wood all his life. His hands were like wood themselves. Nice and rough, the kind of hands made for working with wood.

Would that change, if he married the princess? He wasn't sure what the details were, only that the winner of the King's contest would marry Princess Christine. He had seen her around the palace, when he came. She was nothing less than a princess, and he couldn't very well carry her off to his father's carpentry shop now, could he?

Knowing her, she would probably find it entrancing.

His hand slipped, sending splinters around his skin–they wouldn't break through. He sighed and smoothed out the corner again. These shelves had to be perfect. Perfection was the reason why the King had hired his father so many times. The reason he was allowed to assist– and now take over the job.

Princess Christine had nothing whatsoever to do with it. She didn't even know who he was.

Well, he was going to make himself known in the contest, whether she liked it or not. Tomorrow, he would make himself known.

The contest, though, would take days, possibly weeks. He had seen the list, the tirade of games and sports and tests all hammered together under the name of a single contest with the purpose of finding the perfect husband for the Princess. Noble and common man alike. The King would turn no one away.

Perfection. That was what the King was looking for. Strength, wisdom, a pure heart. How did one go about measuring the last?

He loved the Princess, though. Was that not pure heart enough? He was handsome and he had his share of admirers. But none of them had struck him the way the Princess had. Maybe it wasn't love, then. But it could be. If he had the opportunity to prove himself...

The shelf was perfect. There. Was that not proof of something? He picked it up and fitted it into its place. No nails necessary, the structure was perfect. Better than the original, he was sure. Colter stood back, admiring his work. His father was busy on some other duty, but the old man would have to admire this gem.

"It's wonderful!"

He nearly jumped. He hadn't heard anyone come in. Least of all...

Princess Christine strode into the room, not even wasting a glance in his direction. She was dressed in red, a warm tone that nearly blended her right into the atmosphere of books and parchment. Her black hair bounced at her waist. She seemed to be in a hurry, and she wasn't talking to him. But she passed so close to him...

He nearly choked again, and not on the dust. The girl from the market, who had looked so much like the Princess... It couldn't be.

It was a servant woman, timidly entering the library.

All Colter could do was stare.

"It's absolutely fantastic," Princess Christine said. She stopped before a section of books and shot out her fingers to scan the titles. "I'm sure this is where I left it, if I remember right. And of course I do! It's not too difficult, so it should be excellent for you to practice your reading. Here it is!" She yanked it from the other books with both hands, kissed the worn cover, and handed it to the servant, who nodded humbly.

"Thank-you, Princess."

"My pleasure. Take as much time as you need. You have my permission to come in here as often as you like."

The servant thanked her again.

"My only request is that you enjoy the book, Gertrude." Then she plopped herself down on a chair in front of a chessboard, pieces in motion. "Gertrude, you don't know how to play chess, do you?"

Gertrude shook her head as she cradled the book to her chest. "I'm afraid I don't know."

Christine sighed. "I'll have to teach you sometime. It's a marvelous game, though I must confess that it's most interesting to me when I play with someone who knows the game. What about you, carpenter? Do you play chess?"

He froze. How, exactly, was one supposed to respond to that kind of request? Merely answer it? "I play," he said with clarity that surprised even himself.

She smiled. "Then I would like you to play a game with me. I don't care if it distracts you from your work. After all, it looks as if you are just about finished."

Play chess with the Princess. Of course he would. Though he probably should feel more nervous than he did.

But he had known her before, talked to her as a normal girl. Did she even remember that? It had been years ago. With a bow, he nodded, then joined her at the table.

The closest he had been to her in ten years.

Her eyes went wide for a moment so short it shouldn't have been able to be seen.

Closer than yesterday.

Colter swallowed quickly, praying she hadn't seen the recognition in his own eyes. Great. Wonderful. So he had humiliated himself the day before. But only if she realized that he remembered her. He glanced down politely at the chess pieces.

"So, Carpenter," she said nonchalantly, "Since you are my guest, you shall have the honor of the first move."

He looked down. He held the white pieces. Should he lose against a Princess? What would she do if she lost? Without a word, he moved a pawn. Any pawn. It didn't matter. The game had yet to begin.

She also moved the pawn. This wasn't going to go anywhere.

It wasn't a challenge of the contest. It was only a game. He barely noticed which piece he moved next.

"My father taught me chess at a time I can't even remember," she said. He didn't look up, but he thought her eyes were also avoiding him. What could be more suspicious than that? "He says that he played it with my mother. She died when I was a baby, I have no memories of her. But I like to play the game my mother enjoyed."

"My father also taught me the game," Colter replied. He forced himself to look up. Sure enough, her gaze was for her army. "His excuse was that it is the King's favorite."

She laughed, a real laugh, and for a moment her eyes met his before lowering themselves daintily. "Well, it's not his favorite, but he does enjoy it. In fact, it's to be one of the tests for my hand. In the contest. I take it you have heard of the contest? It begins tomorrow."

His heart pounded so loudly he was surprised she didn't hear it. Of course he knew about the contest. He had known about the contest for weeks! "Yes, everyone has. It's the talk of the kingdom." What a way to spread gossip. Announce a marriage contest!

She gave another laugh. "I am embarrassed. My father promoted it so much. Of course you know of it. Will you be entering?"

What kind of question was that? Well, no point in lying about it. "Yes, as a matter of fact, I will be entering."

"To think I might be playing chess with my future husband!" She deftly took his bishop. "Well, Carpenter, I wish you luck! By the way, what is your name? I feel horrible calling you Carpenter."

If she didn't remember ten years ago... "Colter Wood."

"Colter Wood," she repeated, without any suggestion of remembrance.

As it should be, he supposed.

"And I'm sure you know who I am?"

He smiled. "You are Her Royal Highness Princess Christine."

"And here I was trying to pass myself off as a servant."

Two more moves and he would have her. "You could never look like a servant."

"So you are telling me that I couldn't run about the kingdom in disguise?" Wonderful. She was now testing him.

He met her eyes this time. She was wrong. He had not recognized her dropping gold coins at the market yesterday. Where did she get an idea like that? "Never."

"I'm flattered. Checkmate."

He stared at the board. He had never seen it coming. "Congratulations, Princess."

She smiled back, innocent as can be. "No one can beat me at chess, Colter the Carpenter."

* * *

He had recognized her. He had recognized her. Christine walked stiffly through the halls, all sorts of dirty curse words flowing through her mind. How foolish could she be? She had heard him yesterday mention being a carpenter that worked at the palace.. How could she not have made the connection? And now he was going to spread it all through the kingdom. Every ordinary peasant girl would be attacked in someone's hopes of spying the princess walking among the citizens. 

It was almost a nice idea. Unless the ordinary peasant girl really was hurt in the attack. That wouldn't be good.

Well, he was enough of a gentleman not to admit anything to her.

His smile was nice, though. Very nice. She really did hope he would do well in the contests, at least the ones demanding strength and intelligence. The last qualification... her father had refused to tell her the test for that one.

All she knew was that it involved cloth.

And tomorrow... tomorrow they would begin.

It was an odd way for her father to choose her husband. He had asked her to trust him, and she did.

But she couldn't shake the last bit of fear away. What if everything went wrong? What if she was completely disgusted by the winner? Would her father force her to marry someone she hated?

"Princess!"

Good heavens, it was that carpenter again. That voice was going to stick in her mind for forever now. Every time she ventured outside. She whirled around while at the same time trying to rake together some composure. "Colter!"

It was him. Much too tall but with that handsome smile. He gave a bow. "Princess, I only wished to inform you that you have sawdust on your dress."

She looked down. Sure enough, clinging to her red silk was at least a pound of sawdust. "You do realize that it is your fault."

He paled only slightly. "True, but you are the one who didn't notice."

Blushing fiercely, she wiped it off. "Could I pass for a servant girl now?"

"Never." With another bow, he was off.

She decided to take back the good luck she had wished him.

Of all the nerve. Telling a princess like her something so... so...

She wished him back the luck, plus some more.

* * *

_Next chapter: let the games begin!_


	4. To the Main Event!

_Here it is! A little late-- first the internet wouldn't work, and then I spent a day with Jack Bauer via a twenty-four hour "24" marathon. It is not a good idea. Anyway, I shall post more quite soon! This really isn't going to be a long story!_

* * *

Colter had always given credit to the belief that it took real proof of disgust to truly dislike someone. People, most of them, were good enough folks and there was usually plenty of reasons to like them.

Lord Thomas, however, was an exception.

The nobleman had seemed harmless enough in the beginning. After all, there was no reason to not like him, and in the beginning Colter saw him as a worthy competitor, someone with whom he could pal around at least in the less vicious beginnings of the contest.

But after the first half-dozen footraces, chess matches, and caber tosses failed to show Lord Thomas as the dim-witted and weak fool Colter would have expected from the nobility, the friendship vanished.

Colter couldn't explain it even to himself. Lord Thomas was not cruel, and his opinion of himself was no different than the same of the other noblemen. He was friendly, sportsman-like, and well-liked by everyone else. There was no reason on earth why Colter should not like the man, and that was where the exception lay.

The weeks passed as a blur, day upon day of meaningless carpentry brightened only by the parts of the contest. Strength, speed, intelligence of all varieties... Colter could pass them all without a moment of self-doubt. What he had said to his friends was play-talk. This was reality, and he could win this contest. He was going to marry Princess Christine.

The only person that stood in his way was this Lord Thomas.

Thomas was a favorite, that much was sure. He was young, dashing, and handsome. Even Colter could admit that much, when he saw how every girl looked at him. They were looking at Colter, too, but it seemed that the extra glances went to Thomas.

Colter hated sharing attention.

He knew he shouldn't feel bitter, but it was an emotion that trailed him wherever he went. Thomas was his equal. No, not his equal. Thomas was a lord. He came of a good family. He had money. He had connections. He was the perfect suitor for a princess, far above a lowly carpenter.

No one cared. His mother, as she sewed and knit, raved about how much she would want to sew a wedding dress... for her daughter-in-law, Princess Christine. The design was already in her mind, the perfect dress for a princess. Colter tried to laugh along with her, but he couldn't stop thinking about Thomas.

Sometimes, when a match had finished, he could see Christine up in her booth, next to her father, as beautiful as anything. He couldn't be sure if she were watching him... or Thomas.

Until one afternoon, after a wrestling match.

He had won. Just barely. Thomas had given his all, and he couldn't shake the feeling that the nobleman had let him win. No, that was silly. But he had won, and that victory he could adore. But he was disgusting, sweaty, with the taste of blood in his mouth.

"Colter?"

She picked the perfect time to approach him. He knew it was her, and his only desire was to sink into the ground. He bit his lip and spun around.

She wore the dress his mother dreamed of making. Yellow and bright, lined with pearls. She looked like sunlight.

He was on the ground, in the dusty pit where the match had taken place. He couldn't get up only to bow, so he nodded instead.

"I will never understand wrestling," she said. "But you did well. A true champion. A dirty champion, but a champion."

She probably took turns giving such compliments. To the others. In an instant, with that one smile, his confidence had returned.

And that was all she said. She gave one more smile and left.

Colter suddenly didn't mind the sweat. He would beat Thomas.

He had barely cleaned up when the announcement was given, by Christine herself, spoken from her balcony.

"For weeks you have all tried," she said. "Victoriously, all of you. But only two now remain. They are your fellows, Lord Thomas Brevandan and Colter Wood."

Colter held his breath.

"Only one task remains. And I must say that I don't understand my father's mind here. But he has told me the task, and so it shall be?"

A chess match? Colter thought with the smile. Must one of them beat the Princess?

Christine seemed to enjoy the pause she had created. "Good sirs, you must each make me a dress on Christmas Eve. The one who makes the most beautiful dress shall be my husband."


	5. The Bluebird Returns

_A wonderful Christmas to everyone!_

* * *

Christine was not about to deny that she received some pleasure from this last challenge of her father's twisted mind, though be it far from her to decide how this proved anything. But she trusted her father, and she was not about to remove herself from watching two men filled up on their own pride attempt to work with fabric. She and her father had a watching space, tiny at best, where they could view the work through two small peepholes. She felt a little foolish and childish, spying so discreetly into a workroom filled to bursting with cloth, lace, and two men who probably hadn't the slightest idea of what they were doing.

Her father was quick to notice her mood. He turned on his seat, smiling warmly enough to hide the secret of a joke. "Christine, dear, I'm thinking this pleases you just a little too much."

No point in hiding something from her father. She sighed happily and met his eyes. "Father, I just can't help but wonder what persuaded you to suggest such an idiotic contest. Besides my welfare and life happiness."

He shrugged, as if he really didn't know himself. That was part of the joke. Her father would never do anything like this without a good reason. "Is there anything wrong with expecting the quality of humor in a husband?"

"That was not one of your original qualities. I've seen strength. I've seen wisdom. I've yet to see a pure heart. Yet now you spring humor and the ability to do something idiotic as a quality."

Her father's smile just grew all the larger. "Don't you trust me?"

Ah, always the trust issue. She laughed and leaned against his shoulder. For some reason, he always smelled of the woods, and she had never been sure of how that was possible. "Of course I trust you! I just don't always understand you."

"I never expected you or even asked you to understand me. Allow me that one pleasure in my life with you."

"Then, dear father, allow me the pleasure of mocking these two handsome victims." She leaned forward to the hole, smiling eagerly.

"Victims?" He, too, learned forward to his own peephole. "Aren't we the ones stuck in a closet?"

"I highly doubt either of them know a thing about dress-making. I will be surprised if either of them manage to thread a needle. I may walk away from this husbandless."

"My dear." He squeezed her shoulder affectionately. "You told me that you trusted me. Have a little faith, and we might just see a miracle. After all, it is Christmas Eve."

"What a way to spend a perfectly good Christmas Eve."

"After you just told me you enjoyed this? Then again, I have memories of you doing plenty of strange things upon Christmas Eves. One including setting fire to the robes of a priest."

"You would bring that up. I was eleven."

"But what about the time you encouraged other children to build you into a snowgirl?"

She shook her head. Oh, now there were some fine memories. "Forgive me, then. I really will enjoy watching these two having their wonderful opinions of themselves knocked down a few notches. They are both much too full of themselves. Too much confidence."

Her father raised a grey eyebrow. "Including the carpenter?"

"Especially the carpenter."

* * *

It was ridiculous. This was utterly the most ridiculous thing with which Colter had ever been challenged in his entire life. And that included a great many things. He could actually hear his mother's laughter in his ears. Years and years where she had tried to make him assist her in his work... he had never dreamed the ideals of stitching would ever be needed. 

Princess Christine was evil, he decided. She and the King were both evil demons rampaging on a Christmas, supposedly a holy day. There was no other explanation. This challenge had been created especially for him, a fatality for everything he had felt over the past few weeks.

It was hitting him. Failure. It was a feeling like a quivering knife stabbed into a beating heart, a knife that tore out the heart and flung it to the ground on which for tiny mice to nibble. No, not a good feeling.

The room was eventually going to collapse on him. The towers of cloth, seemingly steady, were growing and growing into rainbow mountains, and an avalanche was not far in the future.

So nice of the King to supply cloth with which no one could work.

Colter sat at a table, made of pine, though that knowledge was hidden under cloth, needles, and thread. There was hardly any organization, and he was going to be sick over all of this chaos.

She was watching somewhere, of that he was sure. Watching and laughing. This was revenge for the observation over the sawdust.

He glanced toward the window. Daylight still remained, though no one knew how long that would last. Soon the bells would ring, tolling in the celebration of Christmas Eve while he was trapped... sewing.

Did no one have respect for a holy night? He sighed and collapsed headfirst into a bolt of red fabric. He had know idea what was the difference.

So this was to what it had come. Giving up in a room full of cloth. No, not likely.

It wasn't completely false he didn't know a thing about sewing. His mother was famous for her knitting and sewing. He had been forced to do a few odd ends. How hard could it be? Stick some thread through a needle and use that to tie fabric together. He would make out a basic pattern, couldn't he?

He sighed, lifted his head, and looked to where Lord Thomas sat. The man had already begun. Smiling happily, he cut a strip of yellow cloth and added it to his collection. There was the pattern, on pale blue.

For crying out loud, he knew what he was doing! Could this nobleman fail at something?

No, no, he was only cutting things. Any idiot could cut something, and Colter was going to use that thought as inspiration.

He stood up and stared over the sea of cloth. Far too many colors. How was he supposed to choose? He already knew he wasn't about to use multiple colors. Not a chance there. His eyes finally settled on gold.

Yes, gold. Christine's dress would be gold. Glimmering, gleaming gold. Nothing could go wrong with gold.

He hoped. He swore for good luck, if that were possible, and pulled out the bolt. It was a good color. It looked like the sort of gold that would appear at sunrise. He rolled it out on the floor. Now to make a pattern. Drawing. He was a carpenter. It was necessary that he be able to draw.

He smiled for the first time. Here was something he could do.

"Well, Princess!" he said aloud. "I'll see that you have your dress!"

The only reply was Lord Thomas laughing.

Colter didn't care. He could draw a pattern.

* * *

As it turned out, it was far more difficult to draw a dress pattern than the plans to build a shelf or a chair. Scraps of gold cloth glittered from the floor, too small to be any use, the rejects of a bad cutting job that was an attempt to bypass a bad pattern. Colter sat in the middle, clutching a pair of sheers and the pieces of the dress– finally cut, finally ready for sewing. 

He no longer cared. He was not going to give up until this dress, as ugly as it would be, were finished.

And he was going to give up until Lord Thomas' dress were burned. He could see it out the corner of his eye, a veritable rainbow, a flower garden. He hated it. And there sat Lord Thomas, humming to himself as he sewed. The humming was only disturbed when the thread tangled. Thomas yanked that out, and the humming resumed.

It was irritating, but Colter could ignore it. Nothing that idiot of a nobleman could do could keep him from finishing this dress. He carried the pieces to his portion of the table and shoved everything else away.

He wasn't sure about the fabric, but that didn't matter. His hands had not been made to deal with things so soft. They were rough, and some of the gold cloth had actually snagged on his skin.

But there was a fire in his brain. He felt like a lunatic. And he sure hoped the Princess was watching.

He picked up a spool of gold thread. It would match. It was perfect. He pulled out a long, long row of thread and clipped it. It only took a dozen tries to fit it into the needle.

Then came the rap at the window.

At first, he didn't hear it. It was tiny, not even made by a human. It was a miracle in itself he heard it over Lord Thomas' terrible humming.

He didn't see whatever had made the noise, at first.

Apparently he had spent more time than he had thought working on the pattern. The sun had already set, and snow was falling. Hard, reaching for a blizzard.

There on the windowsill sat a bird, covered in snow.

Colter had a sudden vision of a frozen bird slamming into a window. In a hurry he flung the window open. The bird was actually alive, though past shivering.

Stupid thing, he thought. A bird incapable of flying south for the winter. He scooped it into his hand. The snow didn't even begin to melt for several long seconds, but finally the bird itself emerged from the snow shell, a damp little bluebird.

Poor thing. He held his hands to his mouth and breathed onto the thing. At least it had been smart enough to get to the window.

The King hadn't been cruel enough to deny them food. Colter crabbed a piece of bread and began to break into crumbs. The bird finally took the energy to nibble at them.

It was an odd feeling, watching this. Just like all those years ago, with the princess and that bluebird. Also on Christmas Eve.

"What is that?" Lord Thomas called from his spot.

"A bluebird," Colter replied.

"A bluebird?" Thomas shook his head. "What is the thing doing out in the snow?"

Colter had no idea. "Well, bird," he whispered, "You do what you like, and I'm going to return to work. I have until sunrise to finish this."

The bird tilted his head, as if it were curious.

Colter picked up the needle, thread dangling from it. Here went nothing. He stabbed the needle into the cloth and pulled through. Not bad, not bad. Another stitch. Again, not bad. Perhaps he had picked up more from his mother than he had thought. A third stitch, a fourth...

This wasn't hard, though it certainly was tricky to pull through all that thread. But if he kept going...

The thread tangled.

With a small scream he jerked the knot out. His strength proved itself once more as the thread tore right through the fabric.

He slammed the needle back onto the table and gasped for breath. No. He wasn't going to lose his temper. He would try once more. More thread, longer thread...

No matter what, the thread would tangle after only a few stitches. His record became eight.

And there was the bird, hopping around on the table, all but laughing at him.

Colter glared at the creature. "And I suppose you could do any better?"

Then, to his surprise, the bird nodded.

It had understood him? For a moment all he could do was stare in curiosity and surprise as the bird flew up and snapped away the thread from the needle.

Well, it was the night of miracles. Why shouldn't a bird understand him? With everything else he did. "Nice try, but time is passing and I'm going to need more thread than that." He cut out another length of thread.

The bird trimmed it right from his hand, half of the length falling to the tabletop.

"This is wasting time," he muttered.

"Who are you talking to?" Lord Thomas asked.

Colter refused to honor him with a reply. The man had enough trouble on his hands as he sewed on lace.

Meanwhile, the bird had taken the short thread and gracefully slid the end into the needle's eye.

"Fine, if it makes you happy." If he were going to allow himself to be pestered by this bird, he had might as well obey it. Maybe then it would leave him alone.

The thread was too short to tangle, and when he was out, the bird had more thread.

* * *

There was something interesting about watching someone speak to a bird, though Christine couldn't help but be touched as she watched Colter the Carpenter give it food. Sweet man, she thought. She had always had a soft spot for animals. 

"He's wasting time, helping that bird," her father commented.

She smiled back at him. "But look, the bird is clever enough to cut thread. I didn't expect so much from either of these two."

Besides, the sight of it was stirring something in her memory. If only she could put her finger on it.


	6. Christmas Day

_Well, I planned to have this up earlier, but it was the holiday, and it's chaotic with my family! So, Merry Christmas! (My mommy and daddy bought me a Snow White doll, despite the fact that I am 22 years old! Hooray for fairy tales!)_

* * *

Christmas morning dawned as bright as could any winter morning caught in a blizzard. The sun rose and did its best to shine through clouds and violent snow, though Christine liked the image. A blizzard was normal -- for winter. A blizzard was wild. A blizzard was an incompetent portion of the morning that would reveal her husband, and for that she was grateful. She had failed to make it past two o'clock and had fallen asleep against her father's shoulder, but now she was wide awake and ready to see just what this particular Christmas had in store for her. She rather hoped it was not the nobleman. 

The dresses would be revealed in a hall, prepared with a dressing area and enough room to please any onlookers that would find entertainment from this contest. She waited there, next to her beaming father, her heart whirling faster than the snow outside.

She trusted her father. She could not deny that, and once the trust was in place all that remained was the anticipation. Somehow this test would make sense. Somehow this would reveal something more about these men than their abilities to wield thread and needles.

Hopefully she would not be expected to keep the dresses. She had not spied the results.

Members of the court filed in, gossiping and wishing each other the traditional Christmas greetings. As princess, it was her duty to give all grace to that matter, but she could barely stand.

And there was that bluebird who had been bothering Colter for so long. In spite of herself, she smiled to see the little thing, fluttering in as if he were no bigger than a moth instead of the ball of blue he was and landing discreetly on the edge of a frame. He did his best to avoid her gaze. The little scamp was denying she noticed him at all.

She had finally recalled the bluebird memory, just as she had awoken. She had been eight years old. She had run away from her nurse and had played in the park until she had nearly trampled a frozen little creature. Just as blue. And she had forced some local boy to hand over bread crumbs.

Odd the memories that returned. Odd that another bluebird would appear in the dead of winter ten years later.

Her father lay a hand on her shoulder. "Are you ready? "

She was going to be sick, but she nodded.

Then the doors opened once more, and in stepped Lord Thomas and Colter the carpenter. And one of them would be her husband. She smiled at both, praying she would not faint. Well, to be fair, they both looked absolutely ill, Lord Thomas especially. His dress, wrapped in plain white cloth, was just about spilling from his arms.

"Would you care to announce this portion, darling?" her father whispered.

Christine would barely do to speak.

He took the sign and continued. "Being this a holiday that has already been ruined by my little contest, we shall make this as short as possible."

Christine almost laughed. Leave it to her father to decide when oration needed glamour. She looked at the two suitors, seated in the front row. Lord Thomas was pale, but at least had the decency to watch her politely. Colter's head was down, and he seemed to be humming nervously to himself.

What a wonderful choice for romance. She pulled her robe closer around her. At least it was modest, not all that plainer than her other dresses. It made for quick changing.

"Lord Thomas," her father said. "You will be first to present your dress. Let's see what one holy night can accomplish."

Yes. That was the question indeed.

Trembling, Lord Thomas made his way to the hall's front. Servants assisted him in unwrapping the dress, and it fell before her.

She nearly gasped. For the work of a single night, the dress was beautiful. Colors upon colors and jewels upon jewels, but, oddly enough, not gaudy.

The audience seemed to love it.

She carefully took the dress, afraid it would be too lovely to survive against her. She had not had nearly enough sleep. Taking a deep breath, she slipped into the dressing area and slid the dress over her head.

The first thing she did was scream, and the dress had scarcely gone over her arms. She pushed it away and clutched her bare arms. Already the blood was apparent-- just scratches, nothing severe. But she hadn't exactly expected to be stabbed in the simple act of putting on a dress! She pulled the dress from the floor-- the jewels were heavier than she had thought. And so were the…

Pins. She narrowed her eyes and followed the dress down its seems. What seems? The idiot hadn't managed to finish sewing the dress of death. Nearly half of it was connected by pins, of all things.

"Princess!" Her maids were already there.

Christine nearly laughed. They probably all thought she was dead. "Pins," she said simply.

One of the maids really did laugh.

Christine gave a smile and put back on her robe.

Lord Thomas stood before her father, face hard in a strange fix of shame and pride. Her father, on the other hand, was furious.

Well, then. This really was getting to be a great Christmas. She made sure to smile her largest as Lord Thomas returned, red-faced to his seat.

Now all remained was… Colter's dress.

This would be interesting. A carpenter who left around sawdust to cling to dresses would now have to show off one. Oh, she was going to tease him about this.

Because if this dress failed to kill her… her heart gave another lurch.

With a deep sigh, Colter trudged to the front and unwrapped his dress.

It was gold. Gold and nothing but gold, a simple roll of gold cloth in a pattern requiring absolutely no creativity and probably very little skill. Or intelligence. Though if one had never even picked up a needle…

"Here, Princess," he murmured, not even glancing at her as he handed her the dress.

She frowned. This was unexpected. Where was the audacity of a boy who would play her at chess and approach her to only embarrass her?

As long as this dress wasn't full of pins. At least she could carry it.

In the dressing area, she pulled off her robe and studied the dress once more. Simple. Very simple. But at least it was sewn together. That counted for something. She put it on. No stabbing pain, and the cloth was soft. Silk. It fit rather well, though the skirt was a bit long. No doubt it would drag behind her as she walked, and she would probably trip… But she did feel rather pretty. Who would have thought a man named Harold Weaver could provide this? She took a deep breath and stepped out.

The entire crowd was silent.

Christine felt a little awkward standing there, every eye upon her along with the gagged wrath of Lord Thomas. And that was when she realized every candle in the room was casting light on the gold. Glitter was everywhere. And than that bluebird, springing across the room and landing on her shoulder… she stared at him, surprise. Pesky little creature.

But she did feel pretty.

And then her father laughed. "Well, Colter Wood, I believe you have won."

The room burst into applause.

Before she knew it, Colter was before her, and that smile was back on his face. A look of triumph and…

She smiled back. Well, he would never, ever beat her at chess.

The bluebird warbled something from her shoulder, than flapped his wings and flew to the windowsill. He was bright blue against the white.

"So you approve of this?" her father asked.

Christine nodded. Why not?

"Though I do believe this young man had a little help. But I think you earned it. Otherwise, how else would you manage this in a single night?"

Colter blushed and bowed his head.

And that was when Christine remembered where she had seen him before. Not the market.

But before she could say anything, he kissed her.

Yes, this carpenter would do. Even with the audacity.

_**The End and late Merry Christmas!**_


End file.
